an open letter to you

Dear you, 
I never thought I’d get along with someone so well. From the first time we carpooled together, it was apparent to the both of us how effortless it was talking to each other was, even though it was pretty much the first time we had properly spoken. We, then, both had our own partners, happily blissfully in love with them. Our friendship did not really blossom or grow much till after my breakup. Not because you helped me get through it, as all you asked was, ‘who broke up with who?’. It was probably a year later when we both got pulled into doing something neither of us wanted to do. The prospect of having to spend the whole day with you wasn’t really exciting, but I didn’t really have anything better planned. Also, being an extrovert meant, I would rather be out than in my quiet home. But we did, we spent the day together talking about everything. It was nice. It was truly the first time that I realised that maybe there were people who I, Miss Oddball, could perhaps talk to without too much awkwardness. I can go on and talk about the other times you made me see that the world just might have someone who I don’t feel doesn’t judge me for my quirks or makes me feel like I have to anyone else but myself. But there are too many. And so it began, I was excited to see someone. Gone were the days where I spent my time questioning in dim lighting, and it was nice. 

I’m so thankful for our friendship and the way we can share our flawed ideologies with each other. I’m so glad that you unbeknownst to the both of us brought me out of my slump and I cannot thank you enough for that. We will always be friends and I probably will always be in gratitude. But holding on to all of this is eating me up inside. It doesn’t help when a mutual friend constantly comments on how close we are and how if you didn’t have a fiancé we’d be together. Holding on to you is easy because I can fall back into my head filled with memories of us and hide from reality. I’m going to have to let you go. I’m letting go of the hope that you will turn around and realise that I probably love you. I’m letting go of the hope that one day you will stop the car and kiss me. I’m letting go of the hope that I will hear ‘I love you too’ racing back at me. I’m letting you go. 

Love, 
Microhaemorrhages. 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s